A Broken Link
by Mystic Dodo
Summary: Oneshot: Ron and Harry's argument in book 7 escalates. Harry decides that enough is enough.


**A Broken Link**

**Published: **September 2014

**Author:** Mystic Dodo

**A/N: **Unpopular opinion; I never really liked Ron.

**Warnings:** Spoilers for book 7?

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><p>Hermione had spent most of the evening after the argument crying. Harry didn't blame her. If he hadn't spent many years hiding his tears from the Dursley's he would no doubt be sobbing his heart out too. He made her cups of tea from time to time, leaving it quietly by her shaking side but after hours, the numerous cups had been untouched.<p>

In the end, Harry sat outside the tent against a nearby tree, feeling hollow and helpless.

He tried to reason with his anger. Ron was tired, worried, frustrated. He always had a quick temper. He always had some sort of strange jealously towards Harry. That was just who Ron was; the youngest boy of a large family, overshadowed and overlooked. It was more than obvious that Ron had issues with his self esteem and on his usefulness to the family. With all the adventures he had been pulled into just by being Harry's friend, it was plausible to think that Ron also believed he caused much unnecessary stress and anxiety to his parents. And, well, by having a relationship with his parents, he was bound to miss them, be concerned over their safety, and his siblings too.

It did not work, however.

Harry realised he let his own anger get the best of him… but he was tired of being the Boy Who Lived. Dumbledore's man through and through. The Chosen One. The one who everybody expects should know everything about Voldemort and horcruxes and Dumbledore's plans and, fuck. He didn't _know._ How was that his fault? He should have been trained, he should have been aware, he should – _shouldn't have had Ron as a friend, slacking off from work and not paying attention._

Harry blinked at the thoughts and tiredly rubbed a hand roughly over his face. No. He was just angry and hurt and worried and frustrated too. He did not mean that.

But now the thought had been teased… All of the mistakes Ron made came flooding into his head. All those years, all of those adventures, all of those times where Harry actually blamed Ron but denied those feelings; if Ron hadn't decided to fly the car, if he was more smart about Scabbers, if he wasn't such a dunderhead in Potions, if he hadn't shaped Harry's conceptions about Slytherins…

Ron was more than okay with leaving Hermione to the troll in first year. More than unwilling to help with the case of the basilisk. Unhelpful to Hagrid when the half giant was facing charges in court. Granted, Harry was too… and although he had heard many jibes about the selfishness of being an only child, Ron seemed to fit more of the so called traits than Harry did.

And trying to make Hermione leave. Leave Harry with this massive task on his own. Leave Harry with limited supplies and knowledge and no support or help or company. Not just because of the underlying issues that caused their argument but the fact that after all these years, Ron just did not get Harry. Not in the slightest. Hermione was like a sister to him. Hermione was a friend, nothing more. That had always been the case. Yet Ron accusing Harry, accusing Hermione… wondering if the bigheaded Boy Who Lived To Fail even had feelings for poor, star struck Ginny; after all, Harry was able to break up with her easily enough. All because he apparently secretly wanted to be with Hermione.

"I've seen the way you two have looked at each other," Ron had spat to his two friends. "Don't worry; you can fuck all you want when I'm gone."

Harry maybe, just maybe, may have forgiven Ron if the red head had begged for forgiveness, repeatedly apologising until his face was blue. Not just to him but definitely for Hermione too. But after Ron's response to Harry's word vomit, that scenario seemed impossible.

"I'm gay, Ron!" Harry screamed. A few heartbeats passed, both his friends looking at him in shock. Harry felt sick. "I…. I love Hermione, yes, but just as a friend. That's all it will ever be."

"Harry…" Hermione whispered at his side. Ron was still looking at Harry as though he had never seen him before. And just as Harry felt compelled to speak again, to try and calm the conversation and the tempers, Ron swiftly directed his burning gaze onto Hermione.

"Do you still choose him?" He asked coolly. "Knowing that he's a ponce? That his kind will kill out the wizarding world?" Without waiting for her to answer, Ron spat on the ground near Harry's feet. "No wonder you aren't doing anything. The world needs protecting from the likes of you, _freak."_ Ron spat again for good measure, turned tail and left.

Hermione had then burst into tears, shouting out Ron's name from the mouth of the tent. He did not look back, even as his disapperated. That was how they had spent the last few hours; in silence, aside from Hermione's heart wrenching sobs. Harry was numbly surprised that she hadn't been sick yet, hadn't cried herself dry… and that she didn't leave when she had the chance. That she didn't get up and leave any moment now that she knew a secret Harry had been trying to hide and suppress for years.

Harry drew his knees up to his chest and buried his face in his arms, biting his lip hard enough to draw blood. He must have fallen asleep at some point, because he woke up to a blanket being put around his shoulders and a cup of tea was being placed near his feet. He startled and saw Hermione's pale, blotchy face staring back to him. She held her own cup of tea in her trembling hands and after a moment of eye contact, she broke it and sat down, gently resting her head on his tense shoulder.

"It must be the horcrux," Hermione's voice cracked as she spoke."He doesn't really believe that."

"I've been trying to convince myself of that over the last few hours, Hermione," Harry replied in a low voice. "That may explain his behaviour now, but not all the times he behaved similarly in the past. I didn't want to see it, couldn't see it. He was my best friend, my first friend. I couldn't lose him."

Hermione swallowed thickly beside him. "And now?" She barely whispered. Her eyes were bright as Harry observed her through his periphery. Her face was non-judgemental, pinched in pain, but Harry knew that Hermione wouldn't hate him for his next carefully thought out words.

"Things… would have been different if we hadn't been friends," Harry mumbled. "Perhaps I would have been more prepared, more dedicated. I would have been stronger and, and had my priorities straightened out." Hermione hiccupped beside him. "I would have taken all of this shit more seriously."

He could feel his female best friend shaking beside him, her head returning to the tense ridges of his shoulder. Harry hesitated before he shifted so that an around could go around her impossibly tight shoulders too. He felt cold inside and her body warmth was more than appreciated. Her being there, after everything, was more than appreciated. The fact that she hadn't turned on him, hadn't blamed him….

"I'm sorry, Hermione," Harry managed to push through the lump in his throat. And that was when he let the silent tears fall. Hermione never moved an inch.


End file.
